Peter fumbled in his pockets for a handkerchief, offering it up.He settled back into his chair, staring out the window to give Ana María some privacy as she calmed her emotions.
“Do you mind,Pedro?”
Surprised, he saw Ana María patting the bench next to her and motioning for him to join her.
“Do you feel ill?”
Sometimes it had helped her to lie down to ease her stomach.He had been happy to provide his lap for her to rest on to help stave off her nausea.As intimate as it might have seemed, Peter had merely felt he was fulfilling a responsibility.
“A little,pero estoy bien.I want that you sit here.”
He would not refuse her.Peter nimbly shifted to the forward-facing bench.He settled in next to her, an appropriate distance between them, and waited.She scooted closer to him until their knees and arms touched.Then she snuggled up against his shoulder, the movement accompanied by a series of hiccupping breaths and sniffles.
Peter found himself unable to move.He was frozen, as if he were carefully hidden from the French in the underbrush of the Spanish countryside.But this felt entirely different.Instead of bracing himself for attack, he was trying not to scare off a very frightened and fragile creature.Indeed, he would not complain if this moment continued for a great while.
They were married, but this was a closeness he was not accustomed to.It was also not the reaction he had necessarily expected after telling his new bride that he would not be fulfilling all of his husbandly responsibilities.
“I do have one request,” he said.
“Sí?”
“Could you perhaps call me Peter?OrPedroat least?”he said, chuckling.
“You no likeel capitán?”
“Perhaps something a little more...personal would help keep up appearances.”
“I understand.No hay problema, Pedro.”
Finally, their carriage was pulling up the long gravel drive of the Ashmore family’s summer estate and country seat, Abbeygate.Towering trees were splashed in vibrant autumn colors, blurring Peter’s vision into shades of gold, scarlet, and rust.Arching branches swayed as the jewel-like leaves dripped onto their carriage.A rush of nostalgia flooded Peter’s senses, his chest aching suddenly.How had he stepped away from this place, his family, for so long?
He turned from the window to see Ana María, similarly smitten by the sight.The ache faded somewhat.She deserved to bask in this moment of awe.He would do anything to prolong this breath of reprieve from her pain.What a blessing he could share such a beautiful place with her...and her child.
“Mother has been generous enough to grant us Abbeygate as our home, at least for the time being.And I must tell you it is one of my favorite places in the world,” he said.
“I much prefer thisvistato London.Everything is so...hermoso.”
It was indeed beautiful.Even more so than he remembered.“There is a lovely pond out beyond the house and a walking path in the gardens.There have always been singing birds about, as you will hear very soon.A wonderful sound, it is.I have so many memories here.”
He hoped it would bring him as much happiness as it had before.If so, this place had the potential to help—and heal—them both.
The carriage pulled to a stop, the crunch of the gravel quieting.Peter hopped out and savored the freshness of the air.No smoke, like San Sebastián.No fog, like London.This air was pure.He held out both hands, helping Ana down slowly.It may have been a bumpier journey than she had expected, but he would think that she would prefer the carriage to the incessant rocking of the ship they had endured for weeks on end.
“Are you all right?”
She grabbed his arm, steadying herself, while her other arm pressed against her stomach.“Betterahora.How good to stand on the ground!”
He chuckled.“Indeed.”They approached the tall wooden doors that split the stone exterior of the building.Glints of small, glass windows shone from the high walls, almost like a Spanish mosaic.It was a historic structure, built years before more modern, large windowpanes had been invented.On the stone steps waited the staff, their numbers minimal but their talents immense.Peter was thrilled to see Mr.Burnsey, the butler.His short frame had rounded out slightly over the years, but his smile-lined face and impeccably combed white hair were unchanged.
“Ah, Mr.Ashmore, wha’ a delight to see you after all this time.”
“Indeed, Burnsey, it has been a number of years.”
“More than that, at least by my count.We’ve missed you ’ere.”
“And I have missed this place as well.”
Abbeygate had been like a small haven in Peter’s childhood—a place where Mother, Matthew, and he could escape Father’s furies and play carefree, just the three of them.But he hadn’t been here since the summer of his seventeenth year.Oh, how he had missed it.
